


The Small Triumphs of Virtue

by Ematam



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, French Revolution RPF
Genre: Asexual Character, Blow Jobs, Crack Treated Seriously, French Revolution, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Politics, Strangers to enemies, Written on a Dare, asexual author, so that should explain a lot, somewhat seriously, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ematam/pseuds/Ematam
Summary: My justification for this existing is in the Notes...Basically Sade is being arrested during the Revolution and shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Marquis de Sade/Maximilien Robespierre
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	The Small Triumphs of Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> About some time over a year ago I was dared to write this. There's really no other explanation. It was a dare to complete before my high school graduation and now, a year later, I'm posting it for Sade's birthday because shitty smut was kind of his thing. But this barely counts as smut, hence the rating. Anyway, enjoy.  
> Not beta'd, forgive any typos or inaccuracies. I will blame them on the unreliable narrator.  
> Also my attempt to transition from Sade's style to something else as the story progressed resulted in... this?  
> If you don't follow me on Tumblr and don't know the month-long context leading up to this, I'm terribly sorry. If you do follow me on Tumblr, this is partially your fault.
> 
> tabellae-rex-in-sui.tumblr.com

At ten-thirty in the morning, 18 Frimaire Year II, the former marquis—turned count, yet preferably still addressed as marquis, then Monsieur Six, and now simply Citizen, former president, known inconsistently as François Desade, Donatien Alphonse, Aldonze Louis, and any and all other signatures penned by his hand—de Sade’s humble apartment was investigated by the police. The officers had arrived at Sade’s home, welcomed by his supposed immunity, an optimism only an entitled upbringing could imbue (though this entitlement no longer existed). Sade offered tea to these surely tense inspectors, he smiled politely and nodded as they spoke, placed a friendly hand on their shoulders while laughing. Alas, yes, he was the man they had asked for: They handed him an arrest warrant, which he thanked them for while accepting it as one would a long-awaited letter. Poor Sade, poor hunted Sade, poor hunted renegade Sade; there were always bigots, always men cursed with propriety: the Louis and cruel and the other inept, the Venomous Bitch, and now this. And after all he'd done for their miserable cause. Such is the life of a martyr, the ridiculous cross he bears.

The officers were certain they did not want tea, rudely dismissing any polite offers made. These coarse officers, Juspel and Laurent (he described to Laurent the portrait of an aunt he had who was married a Saint-Laurent, though this Citizen Laurent hardly seemed interested in his dear family tree), were at the very least courteous enough to listen to one of his speeches, the eulogy delivered at the funeral of Marat, to which he made them applaud. Next, he asked a simple favor from his boorish captors, that they deliver some three pages to his publisher, now that he couldn’t do so himself. Aline et Valcour, a novel! To be published under his own name! Championing the grand philosophies of previous generations! (Unlike the humble ones of today)

At that moment; a ravingly distraught woman enters the room. This woman was Marie-Constance Quesnet, former actress and former wife to a man now missing, (having fled to the Americas) leaving her with her young son with scarcely a handful of coins. She comes, fussing and weeping, to Sade's side. “What is this?” she asked, clinging to him, frantically looking between the two officers, “What is happening?"

Sade laughs kindly and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Careful Sensible, you wish to faint?” He gestures to the officer in front of him “This is Citizen Juspel from the Police. He will be walking my Aline to the publisher.”

Juspel smiled tolerably, “Madame, are you Citizen Sade’s wife?” 

Sade scoffs.

“No, Citizen,” says Constance “I only live downstairs.” 

“She lives in the rooms under me. A concerned neighbor is all,” adds Sade.

“Yes. What demands your presence, Citizen?” her voice is quiet, wary, and her accent notably lacks any sophistication, not that such trifles mattered as much as they used to.

Juspel points to a slip of paper in Sade's hands "An arrest warrant, Madame" 

Constance’s eyes widen, immediate terror overtaking her “Arrest? No, no there’s been an error, Citizen. Monsieur Sade is my dear friend; he has helped me raise my son! He was employed as a guard at the Convention! Spoke at the funeral of martyrs! Ah, Arrest! And the crime? For what crime is this arrest?”

"Suspicion, Citizeness."

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes, “But he is a good citizen! He has done no wrong! He was orator at the funeral of Marat and—!”

"Sensible, please. How your tears pierce my heart! " Sade takes her hand in his and they share a most tender look of affection no spouses could rival. "I know nothing finer than obedience to the law." He addresses Juspel. "Do your duty.” Constance sobs at his last words and turns her fair face into his neck.

Juspel, having grown suspicious of his captive's attachment to the young woman, says "Madame, we must search your quarters as well." 

"What? For what reason? I–"

"–am sure you will find nothing suspect," says Sade, "As I said, her residence is downstairs."

Juspel nods, directing Constance to show him the way to her quarters before Laurent calls for his attention from the adjacent bedroom. Laurent, baffled, looks to Sade, eyes fixed on him for a moment, as if unable to form a question begging to be asked, then he looks to Juspel, telling him to follow into the suspect’s room. Constance purses her lips, shooting a nervous glance to her dear friend as they follow Laurent. Sade turns to her and smiles, dismissively waving a hand as if to say there was nothing incriminating in his bedroom as if he truly was the good citizen she insisted he was. 

Both statements proved to be false in the state of the man's private quarters. The room, a bedroom with a small desk shoved into the corner which Sade called his study, was decorated perfectly to the former marquis’ tastes. Next to his study was a bookshelf, which he called his library, with so many volumes they began to take up the floor around it. In fact, there were more books under his desk and bed (and another under his pillow, though it could hardly be called literature). There was a wardrobe, unfortunately lacking in any exciting clothing, that had not much more than what he was currently wearing and some articles Gaudfridy had managed to save from Mazan. Though they didn’t fit him anymore, Sade adored looking at them, until he became too pensive and took to distracting himself with the book under his pillow. Or with the tapestries on the walls, tapestries also saved from the Old Regime, tapestries commissioned by himself, by proxy through Pelagie, or purchased in Italy. The grand tapestries draped across his four small walls depicted the greatest tales of antiquity: Dionysus and his Maenads; Zeus and Ganymede; Apollo, Hyacinth and Cyparissus; Sappho and who could only be Aphrodite herself; sodomites; tribades; pederasts. And the holy cast as well: Mary and Joseph; Jesus and John; angels and demons; Jesuits; nuns! If one stopped to examine each one closely (and one couldn’t help doing so!) they would happily notice nearly all the lovers engaged in sodomy. And on the occasion that they were not, rest assured in that same tapestry, somewhere else in the fibers, there were sodomites. 

Our hero stayed silent as the visitors froze in horror upon entering, as if gawking at Medusa—who, incidentally, was featured on the tapestry hanging at the far left corner, making ample use of her snakes. Once released from his trance, Laurent hastily wrote something down in his notebook. 

"Hello?" Came a voice muffled and distant.

Juspel mumbles something under his breath and rushes to the door, leaning out to look. His agitated face suddenly softens into a welcoming smile, "Good day, Citizen Robespierre." He says welcoming the new visitor.

"Good day, Citizen" responds Maximilien Robespierre, appearing in the doorway. This Robespierre, though slight, moved with a sureness and dignity newfound by his class. "I was returning from–" he stops as he turns into the room, stops as if there existed a barrier in his tracks. Juspel vainly tries to direct their conversation back to the hall; alas, The Incorruptible, too quick on his feet, was too made victim to the Gorgon.

His mouth twitches as if he means to speak, yet before he could, Sade presents himself before him, chest puffed in pride. "Citizen Robespierre!" says he, taking his petrified hand and shaking it. Robespierre blinks once, twice, spell broken as he focuses on the man before him, relieved by the sudden lack of visible tapestries. "It is lovely to meet you, I mean properly so; we have exchanged pleasantries in passing."

Robespierre frowned but a moment, "Yes… yes, you addressed the Convention not long ago, Ka… Ça…"

"Sade. Louis Sade."

"Yes, Louis Sade, I remember you." He pulls his hand away, something like agitation in his eyes as he moves his spectacles to rest on his head, "And for what reason are you here, Louis Sade?"

"He is the resident," answers Laurent rudely.

"Oh… ha, oh, you and I have…vastly different tastes." he then laughs too loudly in an unbecoming manner, subtly wiping his hand on his culottes.

"In the true spirit of democracy, we embrace the Greeks, no?"

"I… well…"

"What brought you here, Citizen?" Interrupts Laurent. 

"Hm? Oh, I was returning from an errand further north," He answers, "and as I am sure the two of you have other matters to tend to, I felt compelled to assuage at the very least this simple task."

Before any gratitude could be shared, before any thanks could be given, Constance interjects, "Citizen Robespierre, Citizen Sade has been fully supportive of all revolutionary efforts; there must be an error." 

Robespierre grimaces in a way that twists his expression enough to be mistaken for a smile. With his voice softer and less certain, he says, "Madame, I'm afraid I cannot offer you a satisfying answer. I am not sufficiently familiar with Citizen Sade's efforts or alleged crimes enough to…" he sighs, "It isn't in my power to overrule any arrests." 

"But you can advocate for my release, no?" Asks Sade.

"No."

"No?"

"Citizen, not only have I yet to read your file, but I likely will not for some time: your arrest was ordered by the Department of Police of this Commune, that is reported to the Piques Watch Committee, in time, they will report to the Committee of Public Safety—then I along with my fellow members will review your charges—after then you will be brought before the Tribunal. Any opinions I have on your matter at the moment, not that I have any given our brief acquaintance, are completely irrelevant this early in the process."

"Perhaps you can, at the very least, tell me the reason for my arrest?" Asks Sade.  
"Well, I have only just gotten here, and I do not believe Citizen Juspel is at liberty to offer that information yet. Patience, Sade."

"Yet it should do no harm to reveal to you now my efforts made for the Revolution, so that you may share them with your colleagues when the time comes?"

"We have–" starts Robespierre. What he meant to say was as follows: such an offer on Sade's part, though appreciated with the propriety required, was not necessary. Surely, all records of his involvement in government were in government hands, and if he felt the records lacking, he could appeal to the local Watch Committee. 

However, the former marquis, ever loquacious in his Nature, spoke over him, detailing his support for the Revolution and painting himself as a good Republican. "I was victim of those vile tyrants for the entirety of my life, Citizen. Thirteen years I had spent suffering between Vincennes and that wretched Bastille, imprisoned for my daring, for my audacity as a free man. I owe my life to the Revolution. 'Twas I who, days before the storming, raised my voice above the crowd to tell of the horrors inside those walls. I incited such passion in those men that I was hastefully moved to an asylum, where I languished until freed by the abolition of the Lettre de Cachet. An abolition you supported, yes?"

"Yes. Citizen–"

"From there I shed my despicable titles and began a life of liberty, as did all citizens of the nation. At the death of that most immoral, most rascally, and most shocking tyrant, I rejoiced! What justice to do away with such a despot! For I had never approved of despotism: when I was but a child–"

"Citizen Robespierre," said Juspel suddenly and harshly, forcing Sade to end his delightful story. "We intend to investigate the rooms of the first floor as well and we shall do so now."

"Yes yes of course. Farewell, citizens. I will watch over Sade as you tend to matters.” He accepts a notebook handed to him by Juspel. This notebook is of great importance, dear Reader, as it contains not only the records of Sade’s arrest but those of the entire Piques region. And do pay attention, Reader to the location of this notebook, as its misplacement leads to the most voluptuous frictions between adversaries. Here I cease, so that you may experience this plot yourself. 

Robespierre waves off the men as they lead a hesitant Constance out of the room.

Once rid of the two cruel officers, Sade begins his tale again, "When I was a child–"

"No. No, Citizen," says Robespierre in exasperation. "Citizen, hear me, if you believe yourself innocent you may request further investigation and reconsideration after your initial imprisonment. This room will be sealed and you may prolong the stay of a hired guard to ensure no meddling of any evidence. Now, however, I cannot justly favor your case. Not without proper process."

Sade stares, but a moment, at Robespierre. What injustice could be seen here! How a man, so active a citizen as to personally address the funeral of Marat, could be imprisoned without cause or Reason. Yes, he was born a noble and greatly indulged in the privileges bestowed by his rank, but when has indulgence ever caused harm? He was imprisoned for indulgence under the Monarchy and now the same can be said under the Republic. What has changed? He could speak freely against the Church he supposed, that was surely all, for it seems one despot was exchanged for a tribe of them. But perhaps our hero was wrong? Not of the despots, that was true. But perhaps he had been too optimistic, too naïve to assume he could freely express his philosophy without fear of punishment? There still existed those clinging to faith and morality, those who would have their delicate dispositions scratched by his sharp words. 

With this theory, he asks Robespierre: "Is this due to my latest address to the Convention?"

"Excuse me?" 

"You did not seem to approve of my philosophy, proven by your recent rebuttal."

Robespierre straightens his posture and brings his spectacles back down over his eyes. "I disagree with your fervent support for the atheist riots, yes."

Allow me now, Reader, to provide some context to what our friends speak of: Not long ago, on the 25th of Brumaire, Citizen Louis Sade presented his "Petition from Section des Piques to the Representatives of the French People" to the National Convention. His petition ferociously and rightfully attacked the abuses of the Catholic Church and bigotry as a whole, calling for the replacement of holy symbols with those of the Goddess of Reason, for the total and complete destruction of vile superstition. He had been passionate, yes, and some would even call him violent in his calls to action, but those would be hypocrites as he was speaking to the National Convention. Although, his addressing of the Virgin as a "Galilean courtesan" may have been too far. Nonetheless, he had support: his words were printed by the Piques press and passed to the Committee of Public Education. Atheism was accepted and those in agreement with him cried that Death Is But An Eternal Sleep. This tolerance was not to last long however; hardly a week after Sade ascended the podium, Maximilien Robespierre presented his own philosophy to his Club. He called atheism aristocratic and called for the end of the violence against the devout. "The notion of a Great Being who watches over oppressed conscience and who punishes crime is the one held by the People" he had said. A flawed statement, thought Sade, for a great voyeuristic Being reminds one of a despot. Despite this error, Robespierre was met with applause after his words Death Is The Beginning Of Immortality.

We now return to 20 Rue Mathurins where Sade continues his accusation. "And we are both aware that, as of late, political disagreements can most certainly be grounds enough for arrest. Or death."

"How can you say such a thing? And to accuse me of personally ordering your arrest! Is that what you suggest!?"

"I would suggest nothing of the sort, Citizen."

"Take care what you say then, how it can be heard. Clearly you have strikes against you, so there's no need to add to them."

"Of course, Citizen. But you will forgive and understand my frustration as an innocent man. Am I haunted by my noble past? By the ghosts of my burned papers? Is that my crime?

"You were nobility?" Asks Robespierre.

"Born to it against my will."

Robespierre nods and looks down at the notebook in his hands. In a brief moment of tenderness, he asks "And what of your family? Have they become Republicans?"

"I must assume not, but I have disowned them, I've no contact with the wretches, be them in Austria or hiding in the country." This was true; though Sade's lawyer was a known royalist hiding in Provence.

"I would make that clear in your appeal."

"And what other counsel can you give me?"

"Oh… no… I cannot… Just be honest, Sade. If you are truly innocent and you speak honestly, you will walk free."

"Is that certain?"

"I–"

"Can you tell me then, Citizen, how many innocent men have lost their heads? Assure me there are none."

Robespierre frowns, gaze suddenly drawn away from Sade. He shakes his head, quick and slight in a way easily mistaken for a twitch. "I told you to take care of what you said."

"Was that so wrong? It was an honest question of my chances."

"You were implying grave errors made by the Tribunal"

"My apologies, Citizen. I was unaware of the law on criticism."

"Citizen..." Robespierre speaks lowly, with a cold clipped accent.

"I speak the truth, do I not? The way things are. I do not criticize Terror, not at all! The opposite is true actually, this… Terror is the natural state of man, of a man in your power to execute. You do not enjoy this, no, it is a necessity. And how brave of you– of you and the other Jacobins to take on this dreadful responsibility for the sake of our nation, for liberty, your sacrifice–"

"Enough," cries Robespierre. Do not try to flatter me; for what may have been successful at court has no effect here. Citizen, you ask for my counsel but I cannot offer it. Instead, I will offer my honesty: former nobility such as yourself, though outwardly patriotic have proven to remain aristocratic at heart, shown now by your inability to submit to any will but your own. I'm sure that whoever ordered your arrest did so with genuine belief that you pose a danger to the Revolution and the good of the people. I will not claim that is correct, as I have not read the case, but hearing what I have heard this morning, I'm compelled to believe it." He takes a breath in such a way it reminds Sade of a temperamental child. "You will be sent to…" he looks at the notebook, flipping to the last written page, "Madellonettes and stay there; eventually you will be given several opportunities to defend yourself. Also, this says François Desade yet you introduced yourself as Louis Sade, why is that?"

"I changed it after the siege of the Bastille and the family name is commonly misspelled."

"Right, well, no matter." He nods curtly after this, yielding the floor.

"May I defend myself now? You have made quite disparaging remarks against me and we must remain together until the officers return to relieve you."

"No… fine. What is it?"

Sade smiles kindly leaning against his desk in a refined manner, "I like to frighten, I'm cruel that way; I enjoy getting reactions. Forgive me for upsetting you, I've no counter-revolutionary sentiments but ah, it is entertaining to pretend and upset you. Did you know when Voltaire was a young man, he admitted to authoring a poem accusing the regent of incest? And he hadn't even written it, no! He was asked by an officer in disguise if he knew of the work in question and Voltaire said 'yes, of course, Monsieur, for I wrote it' and he was arrested and thrown into that wretched Bastille. You may wonder—any man may wonder—why he would say such a stupid thing, but I fear I would do the same, Citizen. I chase glory until it burns me. I am Icarus. You understand."

"I've no interest in glory."

"Oh, but of course you do! And I mean no insult! But for you to come from—what was it—Artois, a bourgeoisie family, a lawyer, and to stand where you do now, it takes ambition." 

The next action is subtle, gentle Reader, but Louis Sade with his flawed vision could still make sense of it: Maximilien Robespierre rolled his eyes. And after a complement no less! Would his sentence change, Sade wondered, if he struck a member of the Committee of Public Safety? Did he have anything left to lose?

"I wouldn't think you favorable of Voltaire," says Robespierre.

"What?" Asks Sade. Of course he was favorable of Voltaire. Voltaire? Dear friend of his departed uncle? Author of Candide, which he will admit served as inspiration for Justine (which he of course did not write).

"It is your Voltaire that believed 'if God did not exist–'"

"'–It would be necessary to invent him' yes, I know! And you are going to invent god? Does that not disprove his existence?"

"There's no need to yell. And you know well that is not Voltaire's meaning."

"Ah yes, Voltaire, the monarchist who believed the public too simple to run a democracy. Oh well, I suppose you do not follow him blindly, not as you do Rousseau. How much do you resemble Rousseau I wonder? If I struck you now would you curse me or would you–?"

"Goodbye, Citizen!" Robespierre announces, rudely leaving Sade's Confessions unfinished. "I will tell Laurent to come and deliver you to Madellonettes immediately, Juspel can handle your mistress alone I'm quite sure and he wouldn't fault me for leaving. If you want my prediction, I predict that you will be found guilty. Forgive my impropriety." He storms to the door.

"And to whom may I file my complaint on your conduct, Monseigneur?"

With a smile, he responds: "To Pluto." Before leaving, the door nearly closing on his coattails.

Fucking bastard, thought Sade, and at this moment the former Marquis relished in the thought of never having to hear his voice or read his name again. So he will die, do be it! Death is an eternal sleep and after years of suffering, he was exhausted. Yes, the only winners of the Revolution were those caressed to sleep by Madame Guillotine herself. Fuck Robespierre and Danton and all the others! Let them resort to cannibalism here in Butua. If this was the new way of life, he wanted no part of if. If the abuses of the monarchy and nobility will be so heavily judged but those of the church celebrated, if his ancestors' labor and brilliance no longer mean a damn thing, then he's better dead. Punished! He was being punished for his unwillingness to kill! When Papa Montreuil came with his neck in a noose and Sade cut it away, changed from his previous evils, he was struck down. "No, Sade," had said the revolutionary scoundrels, "No! You must plunge the blade into his throat! You must take pleasure in the way blood springs forth from the gash, meet with ecstasy the choked gasps of your enemy! But careful! Careful! Do not call the Virgin a whore! Do not abhor the Church! You must be Virtuous! Virtuous when you frig yourself to the bloodied heads of your brothers! Virtuous as you orphan thousands! Virtuous as you remain unsullied, untouched, and uncorrupt but wet with the blood of the nobility and stiff with unchanging patriotism!" And as Sade comforted himself with this thought—with the thought that Constance and Charles would mourn him, yes, but be consoled in the arms of their friends—the door opened with a jarring creak and Robespierre stood primly at the entrance.

"You took a wrong turn, Citizen."

"Give it back." Said he.

"What?"

"I am sure now you understand the graveness of your words and actions, so it will do no good to repeat myself. I assume you've decided you are doomed regardless and have nothing to lose by acting out. Nonetheless, the notebook belongs to the Parisian Department of Police and I assure you they will demand it be returned."

Now Citizen Sade was a charming man, cunning and vile when need be, but theivery, sleight of hand was never a skill he stooped to develop. No, such tricks were reserved for the low born. "I did not take your notebook," protested Sade, "'Twas in your hands."

"Yes, and now it is not."

"A tragedy, but not one I wrote."

Robespierre then paced madly in short steps forwards and backward, leaning to look over chairs, and peering into corners in search of the Great National Notebook. The sweep would have been vital in a larger room, necessary to ensure it was not hidden, but here he simply looked absurd.

From his position at the desk, Sade sighed, “It hardly matters. ‘Tis here somewhere, no? It will be found, during the investigation surely. Now leave! I do not wish my last moments of freedom stolen by a manic notary!"

"Return it and I shall."

Sade submits himself for examination, arms stretched and chest bared. "Shall I strip then?"

After a cursory glance over Sade, he responded, "Please do not." Then in an unseemly manner, he forcefully approaches the Marquis, grabbing him by the vest and pushing his hand into its pockets he rummages for some time only pulling out a wooden snuff box. Once finished with the waistcoat, he directs his attention to the trouser pockets. Everything was removed—a small pencil, keys, two sous, and an écu. 

In this sweet moment of intimacy and in spite, Sade did the same: plunging his hand into Robespierre's coat pockets and forcibly rummaging through them.

Sade’s hand slowly enters Robespierre’s trouser pockets, a smile spreading across his face as he lets his hand linger there, gently stroking his upper thigh. Robespierre freezes and Sade, grinning and eager, looks to him to see any change in his expression—parted lips, heavy eyelids, flushed cheeks—but, alas, there is none: Robespierre was staring off at the wall next to them, seemingly lost in thought. Ever so casually, Sade drags his hand higher up, gaze carefully fixed on his face, which tenses. Besides this anxious reaction, Robespierre continues to stare at the wall, barely acknowledging the former marquis. 

Sade smiled, "Push me away if you'd like."

There’s no response for second or two but before Sade could laugh, Robespierre's voice came stern and quiet, “Stop. You are trying to assuage me."

"Assuage you?"

"It is bribery you know."

"Assuage you to what? Tell me, Citizen, tell me you believe I am trying to seduce you, and maybe then you will hear how ridiculous that accusation is. Write bribery, write bribery in your notebook!"

"If I had it, I would. Unless this is your scheme." Robespierre feared momentarily for his life: did this vulgar former marquis only plan to return the notebook after a demand had been met? No, for the door was left open, and Laurent and Juspel remained downstairs; he could easily go and leave the responsibility of recovering the notebook to them. No no, Sade was not bribing him or inciting any exchange of services. Sade, driven by his insatiable Nature for the thrilling, was simply pursuing that very Nature. Additionally, in the event that he is provided with pen and ink in prison, he wished to expand on his virtuous Justine's story, perhaps detail her sister's affairs, and he required new research after fifteen years of celibacy. If Robespierre rejected his request and added to the charges, what difference would it make in his sealed date? So the former marquis took a risk not entirely risky and when Robespierre informed him again of his incorruptibility and the futility of seducing him, our hero responded "I know."

Robespierre stayed silent then, regrettably unreadable.

“I was certain I had imagined you taking promenade at the Tuileries. It seems it wasn't mere fantasy,” tries Sade.

"I take frequent trips to the Louvre." Says Robespierre and though it is not a lie, it would be truer to say he resided adjacent to the gardens. He chose to withhold this, however. "You understand what you are doing, yes? Seduction–"

Sade gasped, hand over his wounded heart, “Citizen! You accuse me of… of seduction? Oh, surely attempted temptation is crime enough for you to take my head. Would you?” he asked.

“If you conduct yourself in a way which justifies such action, yes,” Robespierre answered.

“Honesty, for once, Citizen, how grand to hear honesty! And what wonderful news! Be warned, the most pain is felt at the first introduction, and I'm sure it would be your first. Salve could be used to ease the way but I find it equally reduces the pleasure felt—"

Robespierre interjects, no interest in Sade's depravity. "What is your goal then, if not seduction?"

"Must I have a goal?"

"You claimed to chase glory."

Sade smiles. "Yes, as well as pleasure. My goal here is Pleasure. And as that is not bribery or seduction or threats of any kind then I cannot imagine it is criminal. It was, once, but that had changed, as you know."

"You are suggesting we… lie together for no reason other than your own pleasure. No, it isn't criminal, but greatly unprofessional in our situation."

"The incorruptible would allow a small fuck to cloud his judgment?"

"I mean it for your sake. You are prisoner and I judge, in a sense."

"Is that your only objection?"

"The door is still open."

"An error easily fixed."

At this moment, in an act of desire, Sade grabs Robespierre's hand. "Earlier, just now, with my hand in your pocket, you hesitated to push me away. You did, once you gathered yourself, but at the moment before, you looked with uncertainty. As a young virgin would at her first touch. You enjoyed it, Robespierre."

“That isn't enjoyment.”

“What is it then?” He leans closer, “Shameful curiosity? I believe so, yes. And that is what I offer you here: an experience. Every man has curiosities. Here you are presented with an opportunity many do not have: the ability to act on this curiosity without consequence. There is no past friendship between us, no possibility of sullying a once chaste relation, no pleasant memories now changed, no current mistresses scorned. And I at most have some months left in my life: my death eliminates future embarrassed glances or the possibility of unwarranted attachments forming; we will never grow jealous of future lovers or suffer from each other's libel. Any trouble I could rouse from my cell will not be believed; evils of greater force have been said of you, my stories will simply drown amongst the others. When I close this door, as I am doing this moment, all embraces shared by us will remain locked away and we shall take them to our graves, mine crowded and flippant and yours in a pleasant meadow in some forty years.

"There, Robespierre, is your reason to engage here with me. And I? I told you I chase pleasure. And here is my last chance to do so! If I can be completely honest, and I hope I can, it has been quite a while for me; unbeknownst to you, your hand had quite an effect while in my pocket; and as you can see, on these four walls, we are surrounded by sex.”

Robespierre looks around the room, at the many tapestries. When Sade drapes an arm around his shoulder, he jumps.

“Anything interest you, Citizen?” asked Sade.

“It's impossible to perform half the acts shown here with only two men.”

“I can invite others.”

“No.”

Sade laughs “There's plenty that can be done between two men, and there isn't much time to decide. The officers will be done searching Constance’s room any minute.” He sighs and pushes away from him. “Here, take off your breeches” 

Robespierre steps back, “I do not recall agreeing to anything offered." 

"I have yet to offer anything, but as we have so little time and because you carry yourself as a man intolerant of pain, I'm going to suck your prick, yes?”

“Oh.”

“Do you object?”

Robespierre stayed silent.

"Then push me away if you'd like." Sade grabbed at the other's breeches, deftly unbuttoning them and kneeling before him. "'Tis not necessary to take them off entirely. Just lower them a bit." He says as he does so “Oh, and your drawers as well… there." 

“Shouldn't I sit down?” asks Robespierre calm and quietly.

“Do you predict you will need to?” Sade chuckles, adding “standing will be fine. Lean on me if you must." after he hears no response.

“Do not… soil any of my clothing.”

“Fear not, dandy. I will swallow it. Am I to assume this is your first time with a man?” Sade asks, smirk clear in his voice.

“Do not speak.”

He smirked, “Very well.”

And there! He jumps when Sade's hand grasps him. Poor Robespierre keeps his eyes fixed on the window, his hands staying firmly at his side: he jerks only slightly when frigged, modesty forbidding any more theatrics, he stays silent as well only allowing sharp breathing. Eventually, the friction grew bothersome.

“Get on with it.” He bites out.

Sade looks up at him in shock, “Did you expect me to put your limp cock in my mouth?" He pinches his thigh.

Robespierre jumps grabbing onto Sade's hair to balance himself and quite nearly kicking him in the face. “Well, you said you would… are you even g–?” 

At that moment was when Louis Sade did as so promised, taking Robespierre in his mouth as though he was a man from the Tuileries and not one who just happened to live in the vicinity. For Robespierre, the initial surprise draws a quick gasp from his lips leaving him fixed in place for but a moment, startled by the sensation. As seconds pass though, he grows accustomed. He keeps his hands fixed in Sade's hair as he realizes standing would be harder than he had previously thought. His eyes move from the window to a coat hanging on a rack next to them. It was well made, dark red in stitched brocade. The cuffs had lace sewn into them. He squinted, leaning forward slightly, over Sade's body—oh. The lace was… bone lace, it seemed, the threads intricately braided together. Each filament twisted tediously by forgotten hands and each string curved skillfully along the petals of the woven flowers and—and the curve of those strings along the petals of those flowers—oh—decorated by Arachne herself, surely—s-surely! The curve, the way it followed and, yes, the réseau, added after the toilé, traced the work to England—no. No, not England, Brussels, yet named for England for some reason or another he couldn't quite recall at the moment. Ah, Point d'Angleterre. Oh, Point d'Angleterre, the grotesque, decadent, wanton Point d'Angleterre. A frivolous expense, a mode so many chased with no real need. A symbolically simple, literally complex lace crafted by—oh— tired men, women—mothers—with orphans-to-be on their hips. Then worn by kings, queens—marquises—with children thrown to servants. Children christened and wedded in the lace and christen and marry their own children in the lace while the tired men-women-mothers starve and and and…

Sade laughs, sitting back on the floor with his arms behind him. He looks up at Robespierre with a wide smile and his face red like a bacchant. "I mean no offense, Citizen but that was barely four minutes. I intended to frig myself all the while but you hardly gave me a chance." He didn't get any chance, it seemed. His trousers were still buttoned. 

The laugh almost shocks Robespierre, he flinches in the slightest of ways, finally looking away from the red coat. He was breathing too fast and he felt his heart against his chest as if he had been drowning. The rest of Sade's words didn't register, because there was a crack on the wall behind the coat rack infinitely more interesting than anything the former marquis had said or done. And how easy it was to focus on the cracked wall, as easy as it was to focus on the lace, or the barbs on a quill when a meeting drags, or a dripping candle when it's too early into the morning to keep working no matter the coffee or tenacity. 

"Hello?" 

Again, he flinches. Looking down, he sees Sade still on the floor, leaning back on an arm while waving the other hand for attention. 

"Was that it?" Robespierre asks eyes wide and cheeks pink.  
"What?" Sade grabs the chair to lift himself to his feet, but before that can happen and before Robespierre can repeat his rhetorical question, a notebook falls from the chair's seat, landing under the table.

He pulls up his drawers and breeches, buttoning them while cocking his head to the floor, "Give me the notebook." 

Sade blinks at him before turning around. Quietly, he picks it up and hands it off, slightly crumpling the pages in his haste, practically shoving it into Robespierre's hands. "Thank you." And before the marquis could turn away, Robespierre saw, only for a split second, seething rage on his face. No matter. "Right then, Citizens Juspel and Laurent will escort you to Madellonettes when they finish the investigation of your friend." He's only slightly winded. 

"I said it had been a while for me."

"Pardon?" Sade's eyes were blue, he now realized, and they were staring at him with such fury, such loathing, it was almost comical. 

His jaw was clenched and arms stiff at his sides like a child's. "You…" he looks away briefly, to the door, then the floor, shifting, frustrated, his voice stern and quiet "You didn't enjoy it…" Robespierre bit his tongue, forcing down laughter. "Well, I'm hardly at fault: It's been a while."

"Right." 

Right could be taken as sarcasm, Robespierre supposed. Perhaps it was his tone, perhaps his voice betrayed him, because as the word left his mouth, Sade took a livid step forward, pure anger in his eyes. Robespierre only manages to recoil before the doorknob rattles, stopping them both in their tracks. 

They pause looking at the door. There was a muffled acknowledgment of the locked that is locked, then a knock. 

Robespierre quickly composes himself, sighing and adjusting his cravat, "Unlock that, please." 

Sade glares at him, gawking as if deeply offended by the request; if he could afford pearls, he'd clutch them. After a moment of appalled silence, and baffled staring, he crosses the room and unlocks the door to the two men followed by Constance and Charles.

Juspel and Laurent huddle around Robespierre. There was nothing suspect in Madame's room, whatever her relationship with Sade, she was innocent of his crimes.  
Charles rushes to Sade, hugging him around the waist, Constance fussing behind him until she notices Sade's expression. 

"Monsieur?" 

His gaze stays fixed on Robespierre nodding along to the officers' reports. She places a gentle hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers, "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, looking back to Robespierre.  
When the officers finish, he claps his hands together with a smile, "Excellent, I believe Citizen Sade is ready to leave." 

Constance sobbed, throwing her arms around her Louis and stroking his hair.  
Robespierre frowns, chest aching. He walks to her in quick short steps, and hesitantly places a hand on her shoulder "Madame, if he is innocent, he will be released, I assure you."

She smiles, "Thank you"

He nods curtly, straightening his posture and turning to the door then—

"Oh! Citizen," cries Robespierre. He reaches into his breeches pocket, pulling out several coins and holds them out to the marquis. "From your coat, these are yours." 

Sade stares for a moment, "Oh" he lends his palm, and Robespierre drops them into his hand "th—" He stopped himself, staring at the coins in horror.

"Good day, Citizen."

Sade looks up, locking eyes with a smiling Robespierre.

"Good day"

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how there's so much Robespierre porn in existence, I couldn't even get the guy naked and it nearly killed me.  
> Anyway happy birthday Sade.


End file.
